


Honeytrap

by catmorgan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor's trying his best, I promise!, M/M, Pining, Unlikely policework, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and Sumo!!, guest starring Hank's self-esteem issues, he just doesn't know how to handle this, like heck, there's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmorgan/pseuds/catmorgan
Summary: Hank's specialty was honeypot missions.





	1. Chapter 1

Hank has taken a day off ("I want to live a little, get off my back - no, I'm not buying a suit for that dinner because I'm _not going_ \- ") - and it's fine. Connor can keep out of trouble, even if Hank thinks he's a public menace.

Officer Chen doesn't mean to cause trouble when she says, "Got any closer to catching that scumbag Jones?"  
  
"Our searches have found nothing - none of the anti-android propaganda attributed to him," Connot says. "At this stage, I believe that the most effective way to get his data would be to seduce him."

Chen stares. "Wow."

" _You're_ planning on seducing someone? A guy?" Reed, who is not part of the conversation, is leering over his desk. "Ha. Ha. _Ha_."  
  
"I was programmed to use any means necessary to complete my mission," Connor says. Reed's smile spasms as it always does when Connor says "programmed". (Connor references his robotics to Reed at an above-average rate.) "As I said, the mark hates androids. If you were paying attention, you'd know that my presence could jeopardise the mission."  
  
("Prick," Reed mutters weakly.)  
  
"So it'll have to be someone in the department if Fowler gives it the go-ahead," Chen says. "Who were you thinking?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. Before you start panicking, Reed, I won't be considering you."  
  
(" _Prick_.")  
  
"Anderson's specialty was honeypot missions," Chen says - as though it's a fact, - everyone knows _that_. (If everyone knows It, Connor must've missed the memo. He never knows It.) "You could try him."  
  
"That's a good idea," Connor says, "but the mark's only interested in women."  
  
And then they get back to work.

  
  
  
Now that he knows, he can't _un_ -know it.  
  
He thinks about it. Replays it in his break, at the desk, presenting his idea to Fowler. Externally: calculated risk, capability, likely end-result. Internally: Anderson's specialty was honeypot missions. You could try him.  
  
Hank is fifty-four years old and had a son. It is statistically extremely likely that he has a sex drive and has had multiple partners. Connor knows that, logically.  
  
He didn't know that Hank seduced people.  
  
This information shouldn't affect their relationship. In his own way, Hank has always been charismatic. Honest. Kind, even.  
  
Connor has had ideas - imaginative ideas - because of Hank. For example: Hank's strong enough to pin Connor down. Hank owns handcuffs. Hank praises him. Hank has an excellent physique. Hank has strong hands. Connor can't get tired. Connor has no gag reflex. Hank has a larger-than-average dick. Connor wants to give Hank a blowjob. Connor wants Hank to fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, again, again. Hank _looks_ at him -  
  
When Markus preached Imagination, Connor is sure that he didn't have this in mind. But Connor can't help it. Knowing something logically isn't the same as understanding it. 

  
  
  
Now that he knows, he can't un-know it.  
  
So when Hank greets him at the door and takes Connor's jacket and throws it over the sofa, grumbling about a dinner he'll certainly be forced to attend (by Connor), Connor says, "I have to talk to you."  
  
"Yeah? What is it?"  
  
"I need your help to seduce a suspect."  
  
Hank chokes on his beer. "What?"  
  
"I can't see another option. Even Captain Fowler has agreed to consider it." 

"Why," Hank says. He stares. He seems stuck in a feedback-loop. "What - Jesus, Connor. It's been ten years since I tried - anything like that!"  
  
"I'm sure it just takes practice. Think of it like..." Connor hesitates. "Riding a bike?"   
  
"Sure," Hank says. "And how do you know I can still - do that?"  
  
Connor rehearsed this mentally in the car. He thinks his wording strikes the right tone between Invested and Pragmatic.  
  
This is fine.  
  
"If you're worried about your expertise," Connor says, "you can try it out on me."  
  
"What did you just say?"  
  
This is a way to buy time. Hank's hearing is better than average. Hank hopes that by simply staring incredulously, he will make Connor back down. But Connor won't roll over, as Hank might say.  
  
He isn't a saint. He has to _know_ -  
  
"It's essential for my mission," Connor says. (This is a low strategy - Hank would never interfere in Connor's work.) "We believe that the mark has been making anti-android propaganda. You wouldn't have to sleep with him. I need you to access his room, retrieve his databank and leave."  
  
"I just don't see why you couldn't get someone else to do it," Hank says, turning away. "You can't spring this on me as soon as you get home, Connor, Jesus Christ..."  
  
"I trust you," Connor says. That's true, at least.  
  
Hank sighs.  
  
"Alright. If I'm gonna do this tonight - which I'm not set on, by the way - you should give me some context. Where am I? Who am I trying to - " He coughs. "Well. You know."  
  
"My name is Henry Jones. I am an accountant, recently discharged from my firm for anti-robotics sentiments."  
  
(Hank twitches but says nothing.)  
  
"I'm having a drink in my regular bar when you unexpectedly approach me. In this informal setting, a conversation with a stranger would be appropriate. Perhaps you could initiate some physical contact."  
  
Connor refuses to rifle through his memory-banks for any creative ideas about exactly when and how Hank might initiate physical contact. He refuses to exploit the memory of, say, Hank's hand on his shoulder, or Hank dragging him out of the line of fire, or Hank hugging him -  
  
"I'm not gonna grope you, Connor!"  
  
"...No."  
  
(Hank looks at him sideways. Connor smiles politely.)  
  
"Alright," Hank says slowly. "So I can touch your clothes but not you. That sound right?"  
  
"That sounds - acceptable. Yes."  
  
Suddenly Hank smiles. "Deal."

"You'll do it?" 

"Sure. I think I can help you out. But we've gotta set this up." Firmly he plants his hand on Connor's back and pushes him towards the counter. "Sit down. Get yourself a glass. We'll pretend there's beer in it - or whatever. I'll come in through the door back there."

"And then?"   
  
"Then - " Hank laughs wryly. "I guess I'll wing it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Overuse italics? _Never..._
> 
> (this is the cheesiest thing ever written...please don't judge me)

Hank makes a show of scanning the room - the bar - before finally settling on Connor. Connor pretends not to notice at first, then gives in and stares. Hank looks at him - up-down - then retraces the look more slowly. Then he smiles. Winks.  
  
Connor jerks back round and fusses with his "beer". He senses Hank walking to him - slow, steady, purposeful - slipping off his jacket and hanging it over a stool.  
  
"This seat taken?"  
  
"Knock yourself out," Connor says with his best impression of an unemployed bigot.  
  
Hank huffs a laugh. Unusual - normally Connor has to work hard to earn Hank's laughter.  
  
Why is Connor envying his pretend-self?...But it's fine. If he knows that it's pathetic, maybe it doesn't count against him...?  
  
"Pretty thing like you," Hank says now, "alone on a night like this, it's criminal."  
  
It's a cliché, but the twist in Hank's smile saves it. Connor isn't against a cliché.  
  
"I don't have anyone like that," Connor says.  
  
"Would you like to?"  
  
"Maybe," Connor says. Not a direct dismissal, not an open invitation. Neutral. He flicks over Hank, too. Up-down. Just to make sure - well. It's important to act the part, isn't it? And if he can act convincingly here, he can pretend that it's spontaneous. He has an imagination. Hank might've come up to him - and -  
  
Hank smiles. He keeps drinking. It'd be best if he doesn't have another beer - he needs to stay sober so Connor can assess his abilities. It'll be best for both of them if he doesn't initiate contact. Touch Connor. Rub Connor's shoulder. Stroke Connor's thigh. Do something, _any_ thing. 

(Connor isn't _desperate_. He's just highly attuned to Hank.) 

"Make a habit of drinking alone late at night?" Hank says.  
  
Interesting approach. Connor feels - nearly - chastised? Like Hank's disappointed in _him_ , not Henry Jones the unemployed bigot.  
  
It's also a hypocritical judgement.  
  
"I got fired," Connor says.  
  
"That's too bad." Hank doesn't press it but he sounds curious. "What did you do?"  
  
"I _am_ a banker. I still have the skill-set."  
  
Hank laughs - groans - looks up and says, "Oh, Christ, don't talk to me about skill-sets. You sound like my damn boss."  
  
"What should we talk about, then?"  
  
Hank leans closer to him. Connor can feel Hank's weight, his strength. Why is that?  
  
"Maybe we should talk about where you want this to end tonight."  
  
If Connor gives in now - like he's meant to, a nice easy lay - where will the challenge be for Hank?  
  
As Hank says, Connor has never been known to make people's lives easier.  
  
If this is a game, Connor can react to new rules. He smiles - edges in - watches Hank smile. Then says, "Maybe we should talk about your job. What do you do, when you're not hitting on strangers in bars?"  
  
Hank blinks. He puts out his hand - a formal greeting, a strange thing to revert back to now. "Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department," he says. "Pleasure to meet you."  
  
How would Henry Jones, wanted felon, react? He'd get spooked - "You're a cop?"  
  
Hank smiles. "Off duty. I could be a cop, if that's what you're into."  
  
"I've got no great fondness for cops," Henry Jones, wanted felon, says sharply. He laughs - he's nervous - trying to hide it. "No offense."  
  
"None taken. It's not everybody's thing. I'd be interested in knowing what your thing is. Let me guess - not handcuffs?"  
  
Connor laughs, startled. "No, not handcuffs." What would Henry Jones enjoy? Connor...has no idea.  
  
"Yeah, didn't think so. Lemme see - " Hank eyes him - there's no other way to describe it - that up-down look, the smile. "I'm gonna say...actually, you know what? I've got nothing. Throw a man a bone, here."  
  
"I think you're mixing up your metaphor," Connor says. "You should say, throw a dog a bone." (As if on cue, Sumo whines in the back room.) That isn't something Henry Jones would say. This is something only Connor could enjoy (as Reed likes to remind him).  
  
Hank doesn't seem to have noticed: "Damn it! I come out here to have a fun time with a good-looking guy, and you just have to ruin it with your - your - "  
  
Hank seems to be stuck, which makes Connor smile.  
  
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I don't mean to be pedantic. I just want to make sure we understand each other."  
  
"If you wanted to use my title so bad, you could've just said."  
  
"I believe I've already told you, it's not my preference. And you chose to pull rank on me. When I asked for your job, you could've just said, I'm a cop. You didn't have to give me your badge number."  
  
"I didn't give you my - "  
  
"I was exaggerating, Lieutenant. Or would you prefer it if I called you Hank?"  
  
"Of course I'd prefer it. I don't want to feel as though I'm ordering you tonight. Unless you'd like that," Hank says, smiling. "I don't have to be a cop, you know. I could be anything you like."  
  
Is Hank - teasing him? Is this what it feels like? A kind of charged waiting game, feeling as though he's slow, slack, the butt of the joke - wanting to earn Hank's respect, show him exactly what a specialised android - but Henry Jones isn't an android. Why did he forget that?  
  
**ERROR: SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.**  
  
It's too _much_.  
  
"Hey," Hank says (low, concerned), "You alright?"  
  
"I apologise. I was simply...just..."  
  
"Overwhelmed?" Hank doesn't look worried now. He's smiling that same crooked smile. He's chuckling and that thrums in Connor. Hank leans close and says, "How are you feeling?"  
  
"I don't know," Connor says. He tells himself he's being honest, but that isn't true - _ecstatic_ would be more accurate. Or _extremely aroused._  
  
Hank's expression shutters. Then the smile is back. "Let's see if we can't get a more definite answer. Huh?"  
  
Connor nods. His reply sounds a mutant cough-moan - "Hnngh."  
  
Hank's smile twitches. "Come here," he says. And he loops his hand around Connor's tie, winding it between his fingers. He doesn't pull - yet - just strokes the tie, breathing warm in Connor's face.  
  
Connor's internal heat regulators go into overdrive.  
  
"Now," Hank says slowly, "my offer? That still stands. But unless you tell me so, I won't go any further tonight. You tell me to leave now, you'll never have to deal with me again, if it's not what you want. I promise."  
  
"No," Connor says, "I don't want that."  
  
Hank hums. Slowly - slowly - he smooths his hand down Connor's raised lapel. He doesn't touch Connor's chest. Why isn't he - ?  
  
The deal.  
  
"Then you've gotta say so."  
  
"What should I say?"  
  
He's ashamed of how quickly he gives in, how easy he must seem - easy mark, easy lay - and this is all about the deal, isn't it? Hank doesn't want to seduce Connor. Hank has successfully proved that he can seduce Connor without even touching him.  
  
Connor has been humiliating himself. Moaning, twitching, stammering. Begging.  
  
"Say, I want you."  
  
Connor should stop. He should congratulate Hank. He should - but he wants - and he can't think through these warning lights and alarms so he shuts them off. Nothing between him and Hank.  
  
Hank's watching him. Waiting. Not goading him, not baiting. Gauging his response. Hesitating. Not smiling.  
  
"I want you," Connor says.  
  
Hank smiles. "Perfect." He breathes in. His eyes are darting, flickering. He licks his lips. "Connor..."  
  
"Hank?" Connor says. He closes his eyes.  
  
But that's wrong. Hank jerks back. He drops Connor's tie. He practically jumps across the kitchen to put a table between them. Connor groans before he remembers himself, whines before he can stop himself, reaches out before can -  
  
"Not bad, Lieutenant." See? He's in control. This was a game for him, too. A mission. "I think you'll be - the best person for the job."  
  
"I've gotta say, you weren't so bad yourself."  
  
Connor's circuits are thrilling. He can't make sense of this - not when Hank's rubbing the rim of the bottle and idly licking his thumb.  
  
"I - wasn't?"  
  
"That whole performance," Hank says, gesturing to him with the bottle. "Very convincing."  
  
"My - performance."  
  
Connor is amazed that he can even speak. He's barely able to function. Even working at maximum capacity, he hasn't come down from the high. Every one of his senses feels optimised, electric. And Hank is right there -  
  
He doesn't want to let Hank go.  
  
"That's right. You know - " And Hank smiles but he doesn't look happy. "For a second there, you even had me fooled."


End file.
